A'Tiskit A'Tasket A Beltane Story
by Darklady
Summary: In Ozma's 'Squib' Universe - Flich makes a difficult decision. *grin* Posted with permission.


A'Tisket. A'Tasket A Beltane Story   
by Darklady  
  
With the greatest of thanks and appreciation to Ozma, who has permitted me to write in her 'universe'. Even more thanks, of course, for *creating* that special version of the Harry Potter universe and revealing a side of Flich that won a special place in my heart.   
  
This story should not be considered 'Squib' cannon, but *is* authorized, so it also should be too far out of character.  
  
Disclaimer: JKR owns the characters. Ozma owns this fan universe. I own this story. One of the three gets paid. That one isn't me.  
  
Pairing: Argus Filch/Minerva McGonagall  
  
Rated: G. Very.  
  
Archive: NO! (Sorry - but this crosses into another's universe - and so depends on HER permission.)  
  
  
~HP~HP~ HP~HP~ HP~HP~ HP~HP~ HP~HP~ HP~HP~ HP~HP~   
  
Argus Filch paced slowly though the streets of Hogsmead.  
  
A rather rare occurrence.Not the pacing. The Hogsmead. He didn't go to town much.  
  
Ever.  
  
Not that he wasn't able to go shopping if he wished. He had - officially - as much free time as anyone on the Hogwart's staff. More, perhaps, as with very few exceptions his schedule was his own. So, Filch told himself, he *could* have gone into town any day he chose.  
  
He just didn't chose.  
  
That was all.  
  
Normally he.. He tended to... That is, he preferred... Well, he told himself , he was just too bloody *busy* to go gallivanting about some town where several *hundred* undisciplined would-be witches and wizards made the day risky even for the fully... Well, for *people with wands*. Students couldn't get thought their classes without trying to hex some innocent bystander. If any of the inconsiderate brats could be called innocent. Let them loose in town and... Well, *any* sensible person would have cause to watch their back. If they could.  
  
Not that he couldn't have asked.. well, if he *had* gotten accidentally hexed there were... Well, the few times it had happened - back when he was much younger - there had always been *someone* to take care of the matter.  
  
After all, we wasn't still sprouting feathers or leaves or whatever-it-had-been.  
  
It was just... uncomfortable.  
  
He hadn't been raised to impose himself on people. Not even shopkeepers.  
  
Not that they hadn't been perfectly nice about it. Really.  
  
Everyone he dealt with - the times he ordered supplies and such for the school - was perfectly polite. The first time they sometimes asked why they had to arrange shipment by owl or floo. Why he didn't just shrink the goods, or aparate them back. But one he had explained matters? The merchants all took care of the boxing and never brought up the matter again.  
  
Ever.  
  
It wasn't that that he wasn't welcome in the shops.  
  
He was sure, he told himself, that he could just stroll in to any shop on the square and be welcome.  
  
If he wanted to shop there.  
  
A few of them... Well, a lot of them maybe... it wasn't that he was *unwelcome*. No one would turf him out. He just didn't have much use for the things they were selling. Broom kits and wand wax and the card shop with three *thousand* different decks of tarot cards. Witch's cards. He'd had to bribe one of the muggle-born brats to bring back a deck he could play solitaire with.  
  
But he could have bought the stuff if he wished.  
  
His knuts were as good as anyone's.  
  
He even *had* the knuts. Sickles and galleons too. Dumbledore had been quite insistent about paying him the same salary as they had his predecessor - even though a retiring Apollion Pringle had pointed out that his apprentice couldn't take over *all* his duties. No matter, the headmaster had insisted. The pay had been set by the board, and as Pringle had suffered no reduction when they gave *him* an assistant? Even if said assistant had been the statedly incapable Argus Filch. Then the school could certainly find the budget to hire out the occasional repair that *did* require magic.  
  
The man fingered the pouch tied into his vest pocket. Over a hundred galleons in there. He'd kept to his work, and between the general staff increases - cost of living, they were called - and the raise after each years annual review? He likely made as much as some of the teachers.  
  
Not that teaching made any great fortune, but as the coins came in regularly and were spent seldom if at all? Well, it all added up.  
  
He wasn't getting *wealthy*. Not by any means. But he had enough put away that he'd never be the beggar his parents had feared. He could even help out a few of his cousins, rather then being a drain on the family.  
  
That thought made the tight years worthwhile.  
  
Filch shook himself.  
  
Half a life of thrift, and here he was standing in the middle of Hogsmead *itching* for a chance to throw it away.  
  
Damned folly -that's what it was. Crack-brained as a Weasley. But...?  
  
Beltane was coming.  
  
Two weeks.  
  
May day.  
  
And Minerva McGonnagall was...  
  
Well, she was...  
  
Well, he didn't *think* she'd refuse a present from him.  
  
No, he corrected. She'd *never* have refused one. Minerva was too noble and gracious and kind, and if... if she *had* had to dissuade someone she would have done it as gently as she could. But she also was too wise to leave a man dangle if she... well, she wouldn't tease for the fun. She wasn't the type. Unlike some he was absolutely not going to think on.  
  
Ever again.  
  
So if she'd ki.... If she'd let a man kiss her... Well, then?  
  
He was going to buy her a Beltane present and that was *that*!  
  
Filch nodded to himself, proud to see that he had put *that* argument to rout. She was *going* to get a present, and he was going to go *right* into the store and buy it for her. Today. Right now!  
  
Right.  
  
Decided.  
  
Done.  
  
So the question was ...? What?  
  
What did a... Caretaker get a... Professor for a Maying gift?  
  
It wasn't that he hadn't had Mayday sweethearts before. Back when... Well, back before the friends of his childhood went off to... do other things. Back when the mothers still smiled when he dropped the little baskets of flowers and candy on the front steps in the near-dawn. Back when he had been just another neighbor lad. Back before... Well, just back before.  
  
Anyway, he'd been too bloody busy to bother with a lot of rubbishing flowers and trinkets even if he'd wanted to waste his time with the bloody business. Not that he had. Bloody bunch of rubbish, mostly. Dead weeds dropping petals all over his clean floors. Frippery baskets cluttering up the doorways. Step in them and break your bleeding leg. Worse hazard then Peeves, they were. Not to mention now days it was Dumbledore with his dances and parties. Said it was good for morale. Who's bloody morale, Fitch wondered? Not his, for sure. Students out all night, running and singing and slipping off into the forest often as not.   
  
Just as glad to do without the rubbishing holidays.  
  
Except.  
  
Minerva McGonagall.  
  
The smartest, bravest, finest witch in all creation.  
  
Ever.  
  
And... just possibly... his girl?  
  
Not that it really felt right to say that about a woman grown.  
  
Not that it could ever *be* right for someone... like him... to say that about someone .... like her... but?  
  
The finest witch in creation wouldn't go kissing a fellow - any fellow - if she didn't mean it. Especially since it wasn't just the one time. Especially since she... well... just especially.   
  
Filch closed his eyes and let the words drift off into memory.  
  
*His girl.*  
  
His girl was the finest, bravest witch in all creation, and she deserved at least a Beltane present that was worthy of her.  
  
Now if he could only figure out what.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Finis  
  
KKR 2002  
  
  



End file.
